


it's been a long cold lonely winter

by MagicaLyss



Series: A Sky Full of Stars {Irondad Febuwhump} [6]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Peter Parker Has Nightmares, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is a Mess, Sleepy Peter Parker, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark is Good With Kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:40:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22795684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicaLyss/pseuds/MagicaLyss
Summary: Febuwhump Day 11 & 12 – Graceless & StabbedHe doesn’t get hurt.At least not in a way that he thinks matters. Not in a way that he cares about. Not in a way that Peter deems necessary for medical attention besides his own. Not in a way that he’d ever tell May or Tony about.As far as they know, he’s safe out as Spider-Man. Between the protocols he’s disabled, the curfews he ignores, the help he has but doesn’t use, the rules he forgoes. May and Tony don’t think he get hurt.And Peter’s convinced himself that it’s better this way.That if they don’t know, they can live in peace.He’s okay to bear the loneliness on his shoulders as long as it means they’ll be okay.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: A Sky Full of Stars {Irondad Febuwhump} [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1619647
Comments: 11
Kudos: 226





	it's been a long cold lonely winter

Despite what everybody thinks, Peter doesn’t get hurt on patrol that often. Sure, he gets a few cuts and bruises most nights, but real injuries, _serious_ injuries rarely occur.  
  


There were The Incidents. Like the mess with Toomes including the ferry, the warehouse, and the plane crash. And then there was the whole mess with Thanos where Peter, you know, _died_. And after that, there was Mysterio which left Peter a little worse for wear.  
  


But generally?  
  


Regular patrol, he’s fighting against _people_. Just regular human beings with stupid ski masks and easy to take guns that they wave around in carelessly.  
  


And Peter’s a superhuman. He’s got his spidey-sense and his incredible speed, reflexes, agility, strength. He’s got Karen, his suit with all it’s crazy capabilities, and he’s got Iron Man on speed dial.  
  


He doesn’t get hurt.  
  


Especially after he got back from Europe, where he honed his skills even more and started to really trust his senses, nobody can really get the upper hand with him.  
  


So he doesn’t get it.  
  


Why in the world is he bleeding out in a grim alleyway, criminal long gone?  
  


“Karen?” he chokes out, hands uselessly hovering above the wound in his chest.  
  


He dizzily sinks to the ground, knees giving out at the last second, and his head collides with the brick wall behind him gracelessly.  
  


“It appears you’ve been injured,” Karen says and Peter nearly laughs at her uselessness. He loves Karen, he does, but he doesn’t really need to hear that he’s been injured when he’s the one coughing up blood in an alleyway after being stabbed.  
  


“Yeah, K, I get that. What the fuck do I-” He cuts himself off as he coughs, pain throbbing through his chest and head at the movement.  
  


His vision whites out momentarily and when he can see again, he’s looking up to the grey sky.  
  


“-best idea,” Karen’s saying. “Your vitals are fluctuating dangerously, Peter.”  
  


“Call-” he stops, world spinning dizzily around him. The lights are too bright, the sounds of the neighborhood too loud, the pain in his chest exploding through his head.  
  


“Peter?”  
  


“Call Mister Stark,” Peter chokes out, pulling his mask up with clumsy hands to spit blood onto the dark ground below him. “Call- Call Tony, please, K, please-”  
  


He doesn’t _get hurt_.  
  


This sort of thing just doesn’t happen to him.  
  


He’s always so careful with what happens to him out on patrol. For May’s sake, she’s seen too much, been through too much, and after all she’s done for Peter, he doesn’t want to cause her any extra stress. And for Tony because his hair’s greying after everything Peter’s put him through and Tony always murmurs in that sad, pained tone _I can’t lose you again_ , and Peter can’t do that to him.  
  


Peter’s always careful.  
  


He doesn’t get hurt.  
  


Until now, he supposes, hands coated in his own blood, dripping onto the pavement around him.  
  


“Pete? Isn’t it almost curfew?” Tony asks. He sounds so fucking happy, so at ease, so peaceful. Peter can hear Frozen Three, because yeah Disney made another Frozen during the snap along with dozens of other movies, and he can even hear Morgan’s laughter echoing through the phone.  
  


And Peter’s gone and ruined it like he’s ruined everything else.  
  


“I, uh, I-”  
  


He doesn’t want to ruin Tony’s peace. He doesn’t want to hurt him. He doesn’t want to be the damsel in distress, asking to be saved again and again and again.  
  


“Pete?” Tony asks, voice dropping to a soothing tone. “You okay, bud?”  
  


Peter whines under his breath, hands useless and clumsy against the wound in his chest, knife glittering in his weird hazy vision, mouth dry and uncooperative.  
  


“Peter has sustained a knife wound to his chest and has the symptoms of a mild concussion,” Karen informs. “He requires immediate medical attention.”  
  


It’s almost instant, the change of pace flipping from nonchalant and easy straight to panic and worry.  
  


Tony’s voice is loud and scared against his ear, and Peter wants to hear him, wants to know what’s so important. But he’s just so fucking tired. He doesn’t know how to get himself to cooperate.  
  


So he lists clumsily onto his side, too weak to hold himself up as blood continues to slosh onto his suit and his hands and the pavement.  
  


He coughs, lungs unable to draw in the breath he needs and he feels so fucking cold, so tired, so uselessly incapable of helping himself.  
  


Without thinking, brain scrambled and all attention on the pain that radiates from his chest, he tugs off his mask, fingers numb and weak, tugging it onto the ground.  
  


But it doesn’t make his breathing easier. It doesn’t make the shallow gasps any easier, all it does is remove Tony’s constant ramblings against his ear, his only touch of reality.  
  


He’s here, lying on the cold pavement, body numb and red spilling everywhere he can see. He’s here, alone in an alleyway, unable to think past the blinding streetlight overhead and the vague notion that he should be doing something, _anything_.  
  


He doesn’t _get_ hurt.  
  


At least not in a way that he thinks matters. Not in a way that he cares about. Not in a way that Peter deems necessary for medical attention besides his own. Not in a way that he’d ever tell May or Tony about.  
  


As far as they know, he’s safe out as Spider-Man. Between the protocols he’s disabled, the curfews he ignores, the help he has but doesn’t use, the rules he forgoes. May and Tony don’t think he get hurt.  
  


And Peter’s convinced himself that it’s better this way.  
  


That if they don’t know, they can live in peace.  
  


He’s okay to bear the loneliness on his shoulders as long as it means they’ll be okay.  
  


He’s careful for their sake not his own.  
  


But a stab to the chest? That’s not the same as the nicks and scratches he normally gets. That’s different than the occasional dislocated shoulder or cracked ribs. This is different. This is life or death.  
  


The only reason he wants to hang onto consciousness is for Tony’s sake. When Tony finds Peter, he doesn’t want the older man to find a body that looks a little too close to death. He doesn’t want Tony to find him, eyes closed, face pale, unresponsive.  
  


But the reason isn’t enough to keep him tethered to reality.  
  


  
*  
  
  
He jerks awake, a cry on his mouth that his hands instinctually raise to muffle, tears already steadily falling down his face.  
  


Nightmares are a common occurrence. They have been since Ben died, but after the Snap, after dying, after watching Tony nearly die, after fighting Thanos, after Mysterio, they’ve gotten worse and worse to the point of sleep becoming few and far between.  
  


“Pete? Buddy?”  
  


Peter flinches back, eyes wide as he tries to get his breathing under control, waves of pain rushing over him.  
  


Tony’s standing in the doorway, palms lifted in surrender. His eyes are wide with a sort of parental worry like he can’t decide whether he wants to fight whoever’s hurt his kid or wanting to comfort Peter.  
  


“I’m sorry. I- I- I’m sorry, please, I-” Peter chokes out, hands shaking as they touch his chest, trying to find a wound he can’t feel.  
  


“Kiddo, you need to breathe, okay? You’re safe, you’re healing, you’re okay. The fucker who stabbed you is already in prison,” Tony soothes as best as he can. He takes a few cautious steps forward, offering a soft smile. “Everything’s alright.”  
  


But Peter can’t seem to get himself to stop crying, face crumpling as his nightmares continue to play out inside his head, a montage of all the most traumatic experiences spinning through reality.  
  


He squeezes his hands into fists, reveling in the way his knuckles burn just a little at the movement, cutting through some of the horror.  
  


“Peter, bud, I need you to listen to me, alright?” Tony says, taking a careful seat at the end of Peter’s bed. His face is drawn in worry, forcibly taking a soothing, gentle tone. “You’re alright, okay? You’re safe. You’re in _your_ room at the hospital and May’s gone to get you some comfier blankets while you heal. You’re okay, we’re all okay.”  
  


“I was _stabbed_ ,” Peter says like it’s the most important thing to focus on. His eyes are burning with the tears that don’t want to stop, hands shaking even as he tries to steady them. “I was stabbed, Tony.”  
  


Somehow, Tony’s face doesn’t fall. He doesn’t falter.  
  


“You were. Your reflexes were a little late or the guy was just a bit too fast, something happened. But that’s okay because you were smart and you called me for help.”  
  


It’s said like it’s simple. Like Peter getting stabbed, like his incapability to stop crying, like the monsters in his head that have sunk their claws into his brain, like anything about this is _okay_.  
  


Peter flinches away from Tony, legs drawing up to his chest, even as it makes his head spin and chest ache when he gasps uselessly for breath.  
  


“You wanna talk to me?” Tony asks. “What can I do for you, bud?”  
  


Peter wishes it were that simple. Like it’s possible for Tony to wipe away all the hurt, all the pain, all the horrors that have embedded themselves into the root of who Peter is, just by talking.  
  


“I’m scared of the dark,” Peter says anyways.  
  


He trusts Tony. That’s the truth. That’s the root of everything. He trusts Tony to make it all go away. So he talks, he lets the words flow from his mouth, clumsy and uncertain, like somebody turned on the tap of his trauma.  
  


Tony hums gently, a soft noise, eyes focused and radiating tender care.  
  


“I- I sleep with the lights on.” His head hurts and his chest aches, metaphorically and physically, and somehow it feels like if he gets the words out of his head, he’ll be able to sleep peacefully for the first time in years. “I’m scared all the time. I feel like I can’t relax without thinking something’s going to jump out of the shadows.”  
  


Tony’s hands are slow and cautious, shifting Peter to rest against his side, head cushioned on Tony’s chest. His hands run through Peter’s hair, tug at his fists with warm fingers until he relaxes, gently runs a thumb under his eyes to clear some of the never-ending tears.  
  


“I just- I don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” Peter admits quietly, keeping his eyes carefully fixated on the ground. Exhaustion is already sweeping over him. “I don’t want to worry you or May, so I just- I just keep pretending everything’s fine. Like _I’m_ fine, but I- I’m such a mess. I’m a fucking mess.”  
  


Warm tiredness flickers to life in his chest, loosening something within him.  
  


He shakes his head, curling up against Tony’s side, seeking as much comfort as he can. “I’m so tired. I keep having all these nightmares about Titan and Thanos and Europe, and I just- I’m so tired.”  
  


Tony hums again, chest rumbling under Peter’s head.  
  


“I’m so careful about not getting hurt, ‘cause I- I don’t wanna bother you or May. I don’t want you to worry ‘bout me. I know I’m hard to handle. I know I’m not everythin’ you wanted,” he says.  
  


He’s so tired, head murky, eyes drifting shut. With Tony’s arms around him, a constant in the world of spinning unsteadies, he finally feels grounded. Safe. Loved.  
  


“Jus’ feel alone. And scared. And I- I don’t wanna die. ‘m not ready to die. Not after- Not after Ti’an.”  
  


“I know, buddy,” Tony murmurs, pressing a long kiss to his temple, when Peter’s voice wavers dangerously. He’s warm and steady at Peter’s side, and the tears slow before Peter realizes.  
  


“Haven’t been s’eeping,” Peter admits. “Tha’s why I got stabbed. Wasn’t feelin’ well. Haven’t been for… for a long time. Been tired.”  
  


Unlike the last time Peter fell asleep, scared and bleeding out and alone, Peter’s now drifting off feeling warm and safe and loved.  
  


“Didn’t mean t’ get sta’ed.” Peter lets his body relax properly, lets the ideas of sleep wash over him despite knowing what nightmares lurk in the darkness. “Sorry for… for worryin’ you.”  
  


“That’s okay, bud. I know you didn’t mean to, and I’m here for whatever you need, you know that. Stab wounds, relationship troubles, homework. Whatever you need, I’m there. That’s what… That’s what dad’s do, right?”  
  


Peter smiles sleepily, curling his fingers into Tony’s shirt. “Love you.”  
  


“Love you too, kiddo. Get some sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”  
  


  
Peter _does_ get hurt.  
  


He gets hurt, he feels pain, he hits rock bottom.  
  


But that doesn’t mean he can’t get back up. That doesn’t mean he has to face it on his own. That doesn’t mean he can’t find a balance between asking for help and taking as much stress off Tony and May as he can.  
  


He does get hurt, but he also gets back up again, stronger than before.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> [My Tumblr](https://lyssismagical.tumblr.com/)
> 
> (kinda lowkey hate this but yk I'm too tired to rethink so pls be kind)


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